


If you were drowned at sea

by otma16718



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hallucinations, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-05 07:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12185628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otma16718/pseuds/otma16718
Summary: After the murder of the Red Dragon, Hannibal plummets into the arms of the sea, leaving Will alone on the cliffs above him. As Will comes to terms with what happened, he has to decide what to do next.-This is my twist on a slightly altered ending of TWoTL.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadows_in_the_night](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadows_in_the_night/gifts).



> This is my first published attempt at a Post-TWoTL fic, and I know I'm a bit late to the party, but oh well.
> 
> This work is a gift to my amazing friend Lela for her birthday.

If I was dying on my knees  
You would be the one to rescue me  
And if you were drowned at sea  
I'd give you my lungs so you could breathe

[‘Brother’](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HbYhMAI4tL4) – Kodaline

 

 

_ Report from Doctor Nolan, R. on patient 371 (Mr Graham, W.)  Session 3, 1st December 2015 _

_Will remains unwilling to engage in therapy and unable to take a seat when offered to do so; he paces the room frequently. When asked a direct question he may respond in monosyllables only, though often he appears not to have heard at all. Will continues to converse with an absent figure, whom he will not discuss. This figure is clearly Hannibal Lecter (deceased)._

_Prescribed: amitriptyline 25mg, though patient is unlikely to comply with treatment. Further session booked one week hence, 8 th December. _

_ Voicemail from Jack Crawford to Verger-Bloom residence, 3rd December 2015 _

_Hello Alana, it’s Jack here. I know you asked to be left out of all of this…I don’t blame you if you don’t respond. I’ll understand. But I don’t know what to do with Will Graham. I can’t get through to him, nobody can; but maybe you could. Please, Alana. I need you. He needs you._

_ Memo from Agent Crawford, J. to Agent Wilson, W. FBI Quantico, 6th December 2015 _

_Where is Will Graham? Are you tracking him? I know this isn’t my case now, but I consider Will my charge, my liability. He’s unpredictable, and I’m concerned about him._

7th December 2015

Jack Crawford pulled his woollen coat tighter around his neck as he climbed from his car and headed toward the main FBI building at Quantico. The air was biting cold and the howling wind licked at his collar. Jack gazed up and saw the wind was also whipping the flag which flapped above the door. He stared at it – not for the first time – in disdain; for all the pomp and pride of this exterior, Jack knew that on the inside of this building, the FBI was in chaos. The fact that this was at least in part Jack’s fault did not occur to him in this moment, and for now he was filled with a deep bitterness about the FBI’s total inability to keep people safe. Two men. How could two men, he thought – _or one man; hard to tell_ – cause so much trouble for an organisation designed to protect and control an entire nation?

With a sigh, Jack pushed the door open with the help of the wind which still ripped at the piteous flag above his head, and entered the building. He showed his temporary badge to the warden and headed for the lift, wondering how quickly he could get out again and grab a half-decent coffee which was not from a vending machine. When the lift opened on the fifth floor, Jack turned left and left again, following a path he knew better than the curves of his own face, until he reached the glass door that separated Jack from his old office. He was overcome with a sudden urge to punch his shining, glossy door. _The_ door, he corrected; it wasn’t his anymore.

Instead of punching the door, Jack knocked on it twice. The man inside looked up, and then grudgingly beckoned him in.

‘Jack Crawford, hello.’ The man had a gravelly voice which sounded perpetually bored; with a vague gesture of his left hand he invited Jack to take a seat.

He took it. He was distinctly aware of being on the wrong side of the desk. ‘Hello Agent Wilson.’

Wilson looked up. ‘Look, I told you before, call me Will.’

‘Right.’ Jack cleared his throat. He would never call Wilson that; it was too jarring, and, really, that name only belonged to one man. A man who should have been sitting where Jack was, while Jack sat where Wilson was.

Jack sat in silence, waiting for Wilson to speak. Wilson was scanning his eyes across a report, which looked very similar to the many other such reports strewn haphazardly on the desk between them. Jack fought the urge to push the overhanging pages back onto the desk.

When it was clear Wilson wasn’t going to speak, Jack cleared his throat again. ‘You got my memo?’

Wilson nodded without moving his eyes from the page. ‘I got it.’

‘And?’

‘And all the correct procedures have already been put in place. We’re following this to the letter of the law, Jack Crawford, so you don’t need to worry about anything.’ Wilson’s eyes refused to leave the report.

Jack ignored the dig; he’d lost his spot behind this desk because he hadn’t followed the letter of the law. ‘Don’t give me that, Agent Wilson. I helped you get here and you know it. So tell me what you know.’

Wilson’s eyes finally left the page to gaze at Jack in dumb expectation.

Jack ran his hand down his leg and kept his voice calm. ‘What you know about Will Graham.’

Leaning forward, Wilson chucked the report he’d been scanning onto the pile before he rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his hands together under his chin in what Jack saw as an incredibly unprofessional pose. ‘I know you’re concerned about Will. After all, what happens to Mr Graham impacts what happens to you; what happens to your reputation.’

‘I don’t care about my reputation, I-‘

‘I know, Jack, I know.’ A wolf-smile, teeth bared in savage mirth. ‘As a matter of fact, I have deemed it a reasonable precaution to place Will under surveillance.’

Jack couldn’t help getting back at a dig. ‘Is that to the letter of the law?’

Wilson smiled again, but the mirth was gone. Not funny. ‘Although, regrettably, Mr Graham was not charged for the brutal murder of Dolarhyde, he is still on bail and awaiting trial for aiding and abetting the release and escape of Dr Hannibal Lecter.’

‘He’s on bail because the judge didn’t deem him able to give testimony.’

‘Not able or not willing? You said he’s unpredictable and I believe you. You don’t trust Will Graham and neither do I. I’m on your side Jack; I’m with you on this. I appreciate the support you gave me in my career before you…stepped down from your position. Will Graham is as much my concern as he was yours.’ Speech over, Wilson removed his elbows from the desk, picked up the top report, and began to read once more, presumably from where he’d left off.

‘So you know where Will is?’

Agent Wilson cocked his head to the side in question.

‘If he’s under surveillance, you must know where he is. And what he’s doing.’

Wilson sighed. ‘Firstly, that shouldn’t be your concern anymore. _Isn’t_ your concern. And secondly, we haven’t actually started watching Mr Graham yet.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we can’t find him.’ A hint of aggravation slipped into his voice. ‘So, Jack, unless you know where Will is, I suggest you leave the rest to the FBI and find a way to move on.’ Wilson shook the report in his hand for emphasis.

Knowing dismissal when he saw it, Jack stood, bade farewell to Wilson – who didn’t deign to respond – and walked out of his office for the last time.

In the corridor, Jack bumped into Price.

‘Hey, Boss. Can’t keep away from us, can you?’

Jack summoned up a smile. ‘Seems not, Jimmy. How’s it going up here?’

‘Not bad, considering. We’ve finished the scene analysis from the cliff and the house. They made a right old mess of it.’

‘They sure did.’

Price stepped closer, glancing over his shoulder to check they were alone in the corridor.

‘You know he helped, right? We can’t prove it, but I know he did.’

‘I know, I know.’

‘How did we get it so wrong?’

Jack slumped forward, shoulders down. ‘We didn’t get it wrong, Jimmy. I did.’

‘We all did. But for some reason I can’t hate him for it.’

‘Neither can I. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?’

‘Guess so.’

Jack gave a fond but tired smile, and turned to go. He took two steps before Price stopped him in his tracks.

‘Hey, Jack.’

Jack glanced back over his shoulder, one eyebrow cocked in question. ‘Yeah?’

‘There’s something else from the scene. Something I found. It didn’t come out in the trial because it wasn’t strictly relevant. But I thought you should know.’

Jack turned more fully again, coming back toward Price. ‘What?’

‘On the cliff…Hannibal didn’t fall. He was pushed.’

***

When Jack got home, he couldn’t remember the drive. He unlocked the door and pushed his way in, switching on lights as he made his way to the kitchen. Walking to the cupboard, he got a glass and poured himself a glass of cool water. Jack knew better now than to turn to something stronger for sustenance. He needed to keep his head firmly fixed in the game. Yes, he’d lost his job, but his work was far from over.

This conviction was strengthened when he pulled his phone from his pocket and saw a text from Alana. It was four days since he’d called Alana, and until then there had been no response. Her message now was direct, precise, just as she’d always been.

_5.39. Call me when you get this. Alana._

Jack dialled the number, and waited three rings before it connected.

‘Hello?’ Jack hadn’t heard Alana’s voice in months, and a strange wash of calm relief came over him when he heard the soft roll of syllables.

‘Alana, it’s Jack.’

‘Hi, Jack.’

‘You got my message? I know it’s a big ask, but-‘

For the second time that day, Jack found himself cut off mid-sentence. ‘Will’s here.’

A beat. ‘What?’

‘Will’s here. With me. At our home. He just turned up on our doorstep – I don’t even know how he knew where we live – and asked to be let in.’

‘What…um what did he say?’

‘That’s it. He just asked to be let in, allowed me to lead him inside, and he’s been sitting staring at the wall for the past three hours.’ Alana waited for Jack to respond, but no words came. ‘Jack, I haven’t told anyone. I think you should come out here.’

Jack blinked back from where his mind had wandered and checked his watch. Almost 11pm. ‘I’ll get the first flight tomorrow morning. Can someone pick me up?’

‘I’ll arrange a car.’

‘Alright. See you tomorrow. Take care of him, won’t you?’

‘He won’t be leaving my sight.’

As Jack put down the phone, he wondered whether that was Alana’s way of taking care of Will, or whether she was thinking more of the need to take care of herself. And Margot. And their son. Jack ran a heavy hand over his face and wondered tiredly  what the following day would bring.

***

Will sat on the cliff, with his feet hanging over the edge. Hannibal sat beside him. Far below, frothing waves smashed into jagged rocks under the fading light of the moon. They sat in the silence together for a long time, listening to the waves and the sounds of one another’s puffed breaths. Hannibal was perfectly still, like a lighthouse standing firm on the rocks in the midst of storm. But unlike a lighthouse, Will was drawn toward him, even though logic dictated that he should pull away. Unlike Hannibal, Will was unable to hold himself still, and his fingers drifted lightly across the grass, rocks and earth of the cliff, heart lurching each time the digits wandered too far and found nothing but air beneath them.

Hannibal stood. He looked out over the cliff, past the sea toward the horizon. Then he cast his gaze down to Will. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’

He extended a hand, which Will took, and Will allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. They set off, walking side-by-side, with Hannibal on Will’s left, closer to the edge. Will flexed his hands as they walked, and felt the dried blood which stiffened the skin of his palms. He thought of the taste of blood. Iron.

‘If we walked forever along these cliffs, the sea would always be beside us.’

Will glanced to Hannibal, but he was looking straight ahead, totally assured as his feet moved confidently over the uneven ground beneath them.

‘But the sea would not be the same.’

‘In name and location, no. But in nature and in substance, it would be totally constant.’

Will thought of Louisiana beaches and gentle waters, pulling sand from the beach just to deposit it a little further along. ‘Destructing and reconstructing, always in constant motion.’

‘Much like you.’

‘Much like you.’

‘The seas are different, yet they are one and the same. We are different, but we are also the same.’

Will shook his head. ‘We’re not the same, though, are we?’

Finally, Hannibal turned to him, though he kept his pace. ‘Aren’t we?’

An empty smile crept across Will’s lips, pulling them back to reveal the tips of his teeth. ‘I enjoy death, but I cannot revel in it.’

‘Did you not revel in the death of the Dragon?’

Will stopped so he could cast his gaze over the black, inky sea. Hannibal stopped beside him. ‘I enjoyed it. It was beautiful, and you were beautiful.’

‘We were beautiful together.’

Will shot a glance at Hannibal. ‘ _We_ were beautiful. It was a perfect ending for the Dragon, because we transformed him into something greater than he could have dreamed, and in doing so we transformed ourselves. In that moment, I felt no shame, and I felt no regret. At last, I was free to be with you, and to be the person, the beast, that I’ve always known I really am…’

‘But that was not enough. Was I not enough for you, Will?’

Reaching out a hand, Will linked his fingers with Hannibal’s. ‘You were too much.’ Will pressed his lips together, creating a thin line, and squeezed Hannibal’s hand; Hannibal’s fingers squeezed back. For a long time they were silent once more. ‘I…I knew….I knew the guilt and the shame would come. I knew the moment, with you, with _us_ , wouldn’t last. It couldn’t last, and we both knew it. I enjoyed it, but I couldn’t revel in it.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Will felt the words like a knife in his gut. Hannibal didn’t say things like that. He always got something wrong, and from that point on, Will couldn’t continue. It happened every time. And every time, no matter how hard he tried, this always ended the same way.

‘You don’t understand. That’s why we’re different. You saw that night as a beginning; I saw it as an end.’

Hannibal turned to face Will, putting his back to the cliff edge. There was a tiny furrow between his brows which belied his confusion. ‘You saw it as an end.’

‘Yes.’

‘But it wasn’t an end.’

‘It was.’

‘It was for me. But not for you.’

And then Hannibal tipped his head back, and fell backward over the cliff. Will screamed his name in horror and despair, even as his fingers released Hannibal’s, even as his hands pushed hard against Hannibal’s chest, helping to finish the job which gravity had already started.


	2. Chapter 2

7th December 2015

Alana had opened her door to find Will leaning against the door jamb, head down, eyes unblinking. Against her will, Alana’s gaze was drawn to the deep red line which ran across Will’s right cheek. She hadn’t seen Will close-up in months, and to see his - admittedly gorgeous - face marked in this way was jarring; Alana wondered if it equally jarred Will whenever his eyes caught his reflection. Will hadn’t said anything at first and hadn’t reacted when Alana had said his name, but, after several long moments, Will licked his lips.

‘Can I come in?’

Alana blinked at him. She hesitated only for a moment. ‘Uh, yeah, sure.’

When Alana stepped aside, Will had allowed himself to be guided in. After despatching one of the wait staff to first find Margot and then get a drink and food for their guest, Alana had led Will through the pristine marble halls – the glossy white of the walls draining Will’s already pale face even further of colour – and into the living room, where she had sat him down on the sofa.

Two hours later, after having texted Jack upon Margot’s advice and having forced half a glass of water into Will, Alana sat down in an armchair, exhausted, and watched Margot – who was sitting next to Will on the sofa - try to get through to him. Will hadn’t said another word since he’d been on the doorstep, and his eyes had constantly been wandering, as though watching something unseen.

‘Will?’ Margot said, placing her hand gently on Will’s forearm. ‘Will, can you tell me where you are?’

Will’s fingers tapped lethargically against his knee as he stared at the empty fireplace opposite them.

‘Can you tell me how you got here?’

Will’s lips parted and he sucked in a slow breath, but nothing further came of the gesture.

Margot leaned forward, and Alana recognised an amused smirk creeping into the corners of her mouth. She frowned, wondering what Margot was up to.

‘Hey, Will, do you want a glass of whiskey?’

This time, Will blinked, as though clicking back into the world, before rotating his head like an owl toward Margot. His eyes fixed on the long dark strands of her hair, which hung loosely around her shoulders.

‘You provided the whiskey last time; isn’t it my turn now?’

Alana felt a smile to match Margot’s spread over her face. She remembered Margot’s tales of this particular devious venture. At the time, she’d felt a pang of jealousy when Margot had talked of what she and Will had done; but Alana understood why, and had come to terms with it. This, coupled with the fact that Will had finally said something, allowed Alana to feel a gentle wave of relief flood over her.

Margot smiled wider. ‘I’d drink yours if you had some, but I don’t think you’ve brought any with you.’

Will glanced down at his hands, frowning slightly, as though to double check that he hadn’t. ‘No.’ His tone was close to mournful.

Alana took advantage of the change of tone; she leaned forward in her chair. ‘Will,’ she waited for him to look up at her, ‘how did you get here? Do you know?’

‘Plane, car, walked. It was further than I expected.’

‘How did you know where we lived?’

Will pressed his lips together and shook his head, but held Alana’s gaze. She understood him immediately: it wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell her, but that he wasn’t able to; Alana’s suspicions that this information had come from Hannibal were confirmed. _How had he known?_ She wondered absently, but now wasn’t the time for that. Maybe she’d never know the answer, and maybe she wouldn’t want to.

Margot was watching Alana closely, and it was clear she’d worked out the same thing Alana had. Alana returned her attention to Will, who was playing with the sleeve of his jumper; the threads were tatty, as though he done the same action many times before.

‘Why are you here, Will?’

The left half of Will’s mouth curled up into a grimace. ‘I’m not entirely sure of that myself.’ This time, he didn’t meet Alana’s eyes.

Alana was about to continue when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket; she checked it, seeing it was Jack, and quickly excused herself from the room, leaving Margot murmuring quietly to Will. She was glad to hear that Jack was willing to come out to them, and went immediately to arrange a car to collect him from the airport. When she returned to the living room, she had been gone almost half an hour. She paused in her step when she entered the room.

Margot and Will were still on the sofa, but Margot’s arms were around Will, whose face was buried in her shoulder. Sensing her presence, Margot glanced up at Alana and gave her a reassuring smile; Alana mimed taking a pill and falling asleep, and Margot widened her smile. When Alana returned a minute later with sleeping pills and a glass of water, Margot had released Will, who was now slumped forward, head down, nodding as Margot spoke to him. Alana placed the glass and pills on the coffee table and crouched down in front of Will.

‘Hey,’ she took hold of Will’s limp hands in her own, squeezing them lightly, ‘you can stay here for now, Will. Why don’t you get some rest? I’ve got something which can help you sleep.’

Will pulled his hands from Alana’s and reached into his pocket. ‘I’ve already got these.’ He waved a box of pills at Alana before handing them to her.

She read the label. ‘Amitriptyline. Will, who gave you these?’

‘Dr Nolan. Psychiatrist.’ He didn’t say _my_ psychiatrist.

‘He thinks you’re depressed?’

‘Apparently so. They also help with sleep.’

Alana nodded. ‘I know.’  She started to open the still sealed box, but Will put his hand out to stop her. ‘Will?’

‘I don’t want one.’

‘Why? You’ve been prescribed them.’

‘Recommended, actually.’

Alana decided to let it slide for now; she’d tackle this later, along with everything else. ‘How about you take this?’ She reached behind her for the pill she brought. ‘It’s just diazepam.’

Will held up his hand. ‘I’m fine.’

Margot stood from the sofa as Alana spoke again, knowing she was in a losing battle. ‘At least try to rest then, Will; if you need anything, just shout.’

Numbly, Will nodded and bent down to untie his shoes, slipping them off before curling his legs up onto the sofa and turning his body into the cushions to hide his face. Alana gently squeezed his shoulder before standing and following Margot from the room.

***

‘You’re not fully comfortable with him being here, are you?’

Alana looked up at Margot, caught off guard – as usual – by how perceptive she was. It was an hour since they’d left Will to sleep, and Alana and Margot were now sat across from one another on their kitchen island, working their way through a bottle of cider.

When Alana didn’t respond, Margot continued. ‘You said he could stay here “for now”; if you don’t want him here, we can have him taken elsewhere.’

‘It’s not that I don’t want him here, it’s just that…’

‘You’re not sure where you stand with him.’ Margot reached over and took Alana’s hand, rubbing her thumb over it gently. ‘I know you care about him, Alana, and he knows it to.’

Alana smiled weakly. ‘Does he?’

‘He came here, didn’t he? He came here for something. You’ve always been a place of stability and security for Will, you’ve said it yourself before.’

‘But he – Hannibal – threatened us, Margot. He threatened our family.’

‘Hannibal’s dead.’

‘We don’t know whose side Will’s on, though. All through the trial, that’s what I was wondering – it’s what everyone was wondering – but I never quite figured it out.’

Margot squeezed Alana’s hand again, and opened her mouth to speak when there was a sound of light footsteps, and then Morgan’s silhouette appeared in the doorway. ‘Mummy,’ he asked, walking toward Alana, ‘why is there a strange man in our living room?’

Alan felt herself stiffen. Margot released her hand and held her arms out to their son. ‘Hey, Morgan, what are you doing up so late?’

Morgan smiled as he climbed onto Margot’s lap. ‘I came for a midnight snack.’ When Margot laughed, he pointed at their cider glasses. ‘You’re having one! I wanted one too. Please, Mama.’

Margot tousled his hair. ‘Okay, okay, you got us. Hot chocolate?’

‘I’ll  make it,’ said Alana, rising from her seat. She disappeared into the pantry, and Morgan turned to look at Margot.

‘Mama?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Who’s the man?’

‘His name is Will. He’s an old friend of Alana’s.’

‘Why is he asleep on the sofa? Mummy said I wasn’t allowed to sleep on the sofa.’

Margot hugged her son close. ‘I know. But Will is very tired, so he gets an exception.’

‘And he’s a guest.’

‘That’s right.’

When Alana returned a moment later with a steaming mug of hot chocolate, Morgan reached his hands for it eagerly, murmuring his thanks to Alana as she took her seat once more opposite Margot. Snuggling down into Margot’s lap, and sipping his hot chocolate happily, all of Morgan’s other questions were forgotten for the moment.

‘What time will Jack get here?’ Margot asked Alana over the top of Morgan’s head.

Alana sighed, picking up her cider and swirling it in the glass. ‘He said he’s get the first plane tomorrow morning, so probably around lunchtime. I’m glad he’s coming up.’

‘Still feeling out of your depth? You’re great with Will, Alana – you always have been.’

‘Have I?’ Alana asked, but she didn’t want to get into that now. ‘But you were the one to get through to him tonight, Margot.’

Margot smirked. ‘Nothing like a bit of whiskey to get the conversation rolling.’ She squeezed Morgan, who had now finished his hot chocolate. ‘Anyway, it’s probably time we all went to bed, hey?’

‘Do we have to?’ Morgan asked as he was slid off Margot’s lap onto the floor.

‘Yes, it’s very very late.’ Margot answered in mock severity, taking Morgan’s hand and leading him from the room. Alana watched them go, listening as Morgan began an animated conversation about whether Will would want to explore all of the best hiding places in the manor the next morning.

After clearing the glasses away, Alana headed to the bottom of the stairs, then turned back again and headed for the living room. She stood in the doorway and looked over at Will, who was lying just as they’d left him, with his face pressed into the sofa cushions and his back to the room. Will’s breathing was steady and even, his chest rising and falling with each inhale. Alana was struck all of a sudden with an image of Will she hadn’t felt in years; the idea that Will was delicate and vulnerable had almost been lost to the past, but now Alana was struck by memories of Will hiding behind his glasses, ducking his head the hide the blush of his cheeks when Alana had flirted with him, stroking his dogs with such care and delight…

Alana wondered for the thousandth time how things had gone so wrong since then. But even as she wondered, she already knew the answer: it was Hannibal who had done this to Will, who was still hurting Will even though he was no longer here to see the results. Careful not to make a sound, Alana walked into the room, pulled a blanket off the back of an armchair, and gently laid it out over Will’s sleeping body. She remembered when she had done this before, a lifetime ago now, when Will had kept his constant vigil over the comatose Abigail. Crouching down in front of Will, Alana brushed Will’s curls from his face with her fingers, and listened to the gentle huffs of his unconscious breaths.

A familiar weight of guilt settled on Alana’s shoulders as she stood and turned, leaving the door ajar, and slowly climbed the stairs toward bed; it was Alana who had allowed – even advised – Jack to set Hannibal in Will’s path, and it was Alana who’d seen what was happening to Will and done nothing to help him.  

_I’ll let you stay, Will,_ she thought, _because you deserve another chance, now Hannibal is gone._ But Alana made a condition to her silent resolution: if Will ever hurt either member of her precious family, she’d cut the ties forever, and leave Will to follow where Hannibal had already gone. It was ruthless, she knew, but as she listened to the sound of Margot and Morgan’s laughter in the rooms above her, she knew it would be a decision she would be able, and willing, to stick to.

***

Will and Hannibal were walking along a single beach beneath the cliff. Above them lay the body of the Dragon, lurking in the shadows, waiting to be found. They were walking close together, hands brushing every now and again, which set tingles through Will’s cold fingers. Hannibal was breathing hard against the pain from his seeping bullet wound, and Will’s face and shoulder stung from the kiss of the Dragon’s knife.

‘What are we going to do now?’ Will asked Hannibal.

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. ‘We?’

‘You and I. Hannibal, you’re still here.’

Hannibal spread his hands in front of them, as though to emphasise Will’s point.

‘Why are you still here?’

‘I’m in your mind. I’m here because you want me to be.’

‘No, no, don’t say that. You’re here, you’re with me.’

Hannibal smiled. ‘Once you were desperate to escape the images your mind concocted, and now you don’t want to leave them.’

As he turned to face Hannibal, Will came abruptly to a stop. ‘I saw too much of those images: the death, the blood, the pain. But you’re not that. I can’t find enough of you.’

Hannibal took both of Will’s hands in his own. ‘But you chose this. You didn’t want me.’

Tears sprung to Will’s eyes. ‘No…no that’s…that’s not what I did. I didn’t do that. I did want you; I _do_ want you.’

‘Then why did you do it?’

Turning, Hannibal let go of Will’s hands and started to walk toward the sea. Will watched him, unable to move, unable to speak, tears still in his eyes. Hannibal kept walking, feet steady, unfaltering as first his feet, then his legs were submerged in the rolling waves. Foam lapped at his chest by the time he finally turned back and caught Will’s eye.

‘You chose this for me, Will. You pushed me away, and yet you still want me here, with you.’

Will nodded fiercely. _I do; a thousand times, I do._

‘But this is what you chose.’

And then Hannibal turned, and walked forward, until the top of his head was swallowed by the waves. After a few moments, Will lost sight of the bubbles which marked his path. His feet were rooted to the ground, but finally he found his voice: at first just a whisper, but then a desperate shout.

‘Hannibal. Hannibal. Hannibal! Please, HANNIBAL!’

But it was too late; Hannibal could no longer hear him – he was already gone.

***

Will jolted from sleep as he always did these days, and furiously wiped the tears from his face, digging his fingertips into the still-raised scar on his cheek as he did so. After some time, he shifted, feeling the soft cushions below him and a thick blanket above him, and turned to find himself in a living room. He had a vague recollection of being here already, and he knew from somewhere that this was Alana’s living room. Alana and Margot’s. Will’s gaze fell on the empty fireplace adjacent from him, and as his breathing slowed he thought of fire, and of flames, and of how pleasing it would be to let the burning pain inside him swallow him whole.


	3. Chapter 3

8th December 2015

‘Are you awake?’

Will blinked his eyes open slowly at the sound of a child’s voice; the low, clear light in the room told him it was early morning, and Will was tempted to close his eyes once more and pretend to be asleep – he felt tired enough to fall asleep again anyway.

‘You _are_ awake.’ The voice declared.

Will huffed a sigh and turned to see the boy, who was wearing thick chequered pyjamas; he had short brown hair and deep brown eyes, inquisitive and intelligent. Will knew the boy was Alana and Margot’s son, but he couldn’t dredge up his name. ‘Yeah, I’m awake.’

The boy smiled, happy to have got a reaction from Will. ‘Mummy said I’m not allowed to sleep on the sofa, but you are because you’re very tired and Mama said you’re Mummy’s friend.’ Came the following deluge of words. ‘And you’re called Will,’ the boy added, as though Will might have forgotten. Will supposed it was a possibility.

Rubbing at his eyes, Will asked, ‘Wait, which one’s ‘Mummy’?’

The boy thought for a moment. ‘Mummy’s called Alana.’ He gigged, smile widening. ‘Alana doesn’t sound like a name. She’s just Mummy.’

Will was struck suddenly with images of Walter and Molly, and the continued giggles of the boy felt like punches to Will’s stomach. He closed his eyes and tried to dispel the deep ache of longing which he’d been avoiding for months.

‘Why is there a cut on your face? Did it hurt?’

‘Yeah, it hurt.’ It hurt more than Will could ever explain. Inexplicably, Will felt tears spring to his eyes, and pressed his eyelids together harder to stop them falling.

‘Are you crying?’

Will shook his head, eyes still closed.

‘I think you are. Mummy said crying is good when you’re sad.’

Will opened his eyes, blinking hard, and huffed out a laugh. He was being comforted by a six year old. ‘I’m not sad.’

The boy blinked at him, suddenly serious, eyes searching Will’s face. ‘I think you are sad.’

_He’s too much like Alana_ , Will thought. He tried to think of a way to distract them both. ‘Uh, what’s your name?’

‘Morgan. Pleased to meet you.’ He held out a hand, and Will shook it cautiously. ‘Are you going to have breakfast?’

‘What time is it?’

‘It’s half past seven.’ Both Will and Morgan turned as Alana breezed into the room. Morgan ran to her and Alana lifted him into her arms, planting a kiss on the crown of his head. ‘I hope you didn’t wake Will up.’ Alana said as she put Morgan back down on the floor.

‘I didn’t, Mummy. I waited until he woke up before I started talking.’ Morgan walked back around the sofa to look at Will. ‘But maybe he is still tired like you said.’

Alana laughed as she followed her son and took a seat in the armchair adjacent to Will. ‘Morning. Did you sleep ok?’

Will pushed himself up into a sitting position, leaning back against the cushions, and ran a hand through his tousled hair. He frowned when he realised how greasy it was. ‘I slept fine.’

Alana turned to Morgan, who was now lying on the floor pushing a toy car across the rug in front of the fire. ‘Morgan, Mama’s making pancakes – why don’t you give her a hand?’

‘Ok.’ He said, leaping up. ‘Do you like pancakes Will?’

‘Hmm? Oh, yeah I guess so.’

Morgan charged from the room in search of Margot, leaving Will and Alana alone. Will watched as Alana’s eyes lingered on the space where her son had been, and suddenly felt guilty for intruding on their home – their life – without invitation. He cleared his throat and looked at his hands.

‘He didn’t wake you up, did he?’

‘No, no, it’s fine.’

‘And you’re happy to eat pancakes? We have other options if you’d prefer.’

Will forced a smile; he wasn’t feeling particularly hungry. ‘Pancakes are fine.’

‘Anything not fine?’

Surprised by Alana’s tone, Will looked up sharply, catching her eye for the first time. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have come here.’

‘Will, that’s not what I meant.’

Will stood, and Alana rose with him. He ran a hand across the back of his neck. ‘Can I use your shower?’

‘Uh, yeah. First room on your left once you climb the stairs.’

Will walked toward the door.

‘Will-‘ Alana called, but he was already gone. With a sigh, Alana folded up the blanket, still warm from Will’s body heat, and wondered how she’d managed to shut him off so quickly. He’d always been slightly abrasive, but not to the level of such obvious avoidance.

Alana wandered toward the voices coming from the kitchen, and hovered in the doorway, unnoticed by Morgan and Margot. They were turned away from the door, Margot standing at the hob and Morgan standing on a chair beside her.

‘You want blueberries in your pancakes?’ Margot asked.

Morgan nodded enthusiastically. ‘Can I stir the mixture?’

‘Yeah.’ Margot handed Morgan the bowl before turning the gas on to heat the pan.

‘Do you think Will likes blueberries?’

‘Probably. Do you like him?’

Alana stiffened, waiting for her son’s reply. When he responded a moment later, she felt herself relax once more.

‘I think so. He seemed nice. But he took ages to wake up.’

Morgan handed the bowl to Margot, who ladled the first bit of batter into the pan. It sizzled, and they both watched silently for a moment as the batter spread and thinned.

‘Why is Will sad?’

‘What?’

‘I think he’s sad. Why is he sad?’

Despite herself, Alana felt a small smile tug at the corners of her lips. Morgan was so very perceptive. But even as she smiled, Alana was reminded of the guilt and concern from minutes ago. As Margot floundered at the question, Alana decided to come to her rescue.

‘Will is sad, isn’t he?’ Morgan and Margot turned as Alana walked fully into the room.

‘But why is he sad, Mummy?’

Alana wrapped her arms around Morgan, who pressed into her. ‘Do you remember what I said, about when people are upset?’

Morgan thought for a moment. ‘You said that…that it’s best sometimes not to talk, but just to listen.’

Alana squeezed Morgan, pulling him closer. ‘Sometimes, when people are sad, it takes them a long time to work out exactly why, and they need help to do that. That’s why Will has come to stay here with us.’

‘Ok, but I want to make him happy again.’

‘So do I, Morgan. So do I,’ Alana looked over Morgan’s head to Margot, who gave her a brief smile. She knew they were both thinking the same thing: Will was sad, and it might not be very easy at all to make him happy again. Not when the one thing which both hurt and helped him – the one person, rather – was gone forever.

***

Jack arrived at the Verger-Bloom residence a little after 4pm, having been delayed for three hours at the airport. He was tired and tetchy, but desperate to see Will, whom he had not spoken to in weeks, and Alana, who he hadn’t seen in many months. It was cold, and the night was already beginning to drawn in, casting the huge mansion into long shadows; the house looked formidable enough to be a fortress, and Jack supposed that was what it was meant to be: impenetrable. And yet, inexplicably, Will was here.

After Jack rang the bell, he stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep the chill from his fingers. It was only moments before he heard the sound of footsteps, and then Alana opened the door; she was wearing a plaid skirt and tights, with a thick grey woollen jumper over the top. She looked comfortable, at home, welcoming. Jack felt the cold around him ease a little at the sight of her.

‘Hi, Jack. Come on in.’ She held the door wider, and Jack entered, unwinding the scarf from his neck and shrugging off his jacket. He’d never been to Alana and Margot’s house, and looked around the central corridor with interest.

‘Hello, Alana. How are you doing?’

Alana smiled lightly as she led Jack down the hallway. ‘Not bad, considering. And you?’

‘I’m fine.’

Alana huffed a breath. ‘That’s Will’s catch-word.’

‘He’s talking?’

A moment of hesitation. ‘He was.’ They reached a doorway and Alana lowered her voice. ‘He’s asleep at the moment, but go and make yourself comfortable. The fire’s lit.’ Without another word she headed off further down the corridor.

Jack watched Alana go for a few seconds before entering the room. A sofa was opposite the crackling fireplace, and two armchairs sat adjacent to it. Jack crossed the room and took a seat on the armchair nearest the fire before bracing himself and casting his gaze to the sofa. Will was lying on his side, facing the room, with a thick blanket draped over him; his head was resting on a cushion, with fluffy curls of hair sprawled out around him. Will’s breaths came out in deep, even huffs, and his arms were curled up against his chest, as though he was clutching something to him. He looked utterly peaceful and devastatingly young, and Jack dared not move for fear of disturbing him.

As he sat and watched Will, Jack was reminded of the last time he had seen Will look so fragile. When Jack had reached the cliff on that fateful night, it was close to sunrise. He was among the first people on the scene, and what a scene the slowly emerging light had beheld: blood was everywhere, so much so that the scent of it was detectible as a pang into the sea-filled air; the body of Dolarhyde lay lifelessly in the middle of the patio, with deep crimson blood spread around his chest like the wings of a dragon. But Jack’s eyes had not been drawn to this for long.

  _Jack looked from Dolarhyde to the edge of the cliff, where a strip of white was just visible in the creeping rays of dawn. He skirted the patio to avoid contaminating the scene, before approaching the white strip, realising it was a person. As Jack got nearer, he saw the white was a shirt, and the shirt was drenched in blood. Another body. And then he saw dark, matted curls._

_‘Will!’_

_Will was lying on his side, his face toward the cliff, one arm outstretched so his hand overhung the edge of the rocks. Jack rolled Will onto his back and pressed his fingers to Will’s neck, relieved for a second when he saw the slow rise and fall of Will’s chest, and felt a weak yet steady pulse beneath the pads of his shaking fingers. Having ascertained that Will was at least alive, Jack took stock of his injuries. There was so much blood down the left hand side of Will’s shirt that Jack couldn’t work out exactly where he’d been injured, but the wound on his face was far more obvious. The cut of a knife curved its way from Will’s cheekbone – just below his eye – to within an inch of his pale lips. Jack glanced back at the blood on the patio, and realised not all of it could belong to Dolarhyde; he wondered how much Will had lost._

_Jack gripped Will’s wrist. ‘Will? Will!’_

_Will’s hands clenched and released; he sucked in a pained breath, eyelids flickering._

_‘Will?’_

_Will opened his mouth to speak, and choked on the blood from his cheek; the wound must have gone right through into his mouth. Jack rolled Will onto his other side, away from the cliff, and watched as he spit red-black debris from between his lips. Will was mumbling; Jack leaned down, pressing his ear close to Will’s mouth in order to hear him._

_‘He’s dead. He’s dead. He…he’s dead.’_

_Jack leaned back to look at Will’s face, but he was already slipping back into full unconsciousness. ‘I know he is, Will. I know.’ At the time, Jack had thought they were talking about Dolarhyde._

Jack blinked hard as his eyes fell on the scar on Will’s face. For a moment he expected to see the congealing blood once more, but now all he saw was the angry, raised red line across Will’s right cheek. He wondered if it still hurt when Will talked, when he ate, when people looked at him closely. Of course it hurt. Jack wondered if it always would, and wondered too whether Will had thought the same thing.

Alana returned with two steaming mugs, handing one to Jack before taking a seat on the armchair next to him. She turned to Will, who was still sleeping peacefully, before returning her attention to Jack.

‘Where’s Margot?’ Jack asked in a low whisper, glancing to Will to check he wasn’t being disturbed; he continued to breathe evenly.

‘She went out with Morgan for a while to give Will some space.’ Alana’s voice was equally soft.

They listened to Will’s heavy breaths. ‘Is he…? He’s not, uh…’

‘Sedated? Not at the moment, no. I tried to offer him something last night but he wouldn’t take it. He’s been prescribed something too, but he wouldn’t take that either.’

‘By Doctor Nolan, I presume?’

Alana glanced sharply at Jack. ‘That his psychiatrist?’

‘Yes.’

Will murmured in his sleep and his fingers twitched restlessly, but he didn’t wake.

After waiting for a long moment, Alana spoke again. ‘When did you last see Will?’

‘A few weeks ago; I lost track of him and I’d been trying to track him down again – that’s how I found his psychiatrist – and then you called.’

‘So you didn’t know he was coming here?’

‘No, Alana, why wouldn’t I-?’

Alana straightened her skirt. ‘Sorry, it’s just…only you and-‘ she lowered her voice further, ‘-only you and _Hannibal_ knew about this place. I was almost hoping he’d found out about it from you.’

Jack offered her a tight-lipped smile. ‘It wasn’t me.’

Alana looked back over at Will, who was becoming more restless as the minutes passed.

‘He can’t hurt you now, Alana.’ Alana looked unconvinced; even Jack wasn’t sure whether he was referring to Hannibal or Will.  Jack waited for a reply which didn’t come. ‘I can have him moved if you don’t want him here. This is your home.’

Alana’s eyes lingered on Will. ‘I know. But he came here for help. And things are different now, without…’

‘Without Hannibal’s influence?’

‘Without his presence.’ Influence was still on the table.

As though hearing Alana’s implication himself, Will suddenly rolled, arching his neck as though straining for something, and murmured Hannibal’s name.

‘Do you think he’ll ever break free?’ Alana asked, standing to approach Will.

‘Alana.’ She turned at Jack’s tone. ‘There’s something you should know; Jimmy told me yesterday before you called.’

Will said Hannibal’s name, louder and more desperate this time.

‘What is it?’

‘There might be hope for Will. To break free.’ Jack took a breath. ‘Hannibal didn’t fall that night; he was pushed.’ Jack waited for a response, and received an empty stare. ‘Will was right beside the cliff when I found him, Alana. I think he pushed Hannibal over.’

Alana sat down again, hand rising to her mouth. ‘Oh…my god. No. That doesn’t make sense. Why would Will…?’

Jack spread his hands in front of him. ‘Alana, I don’t know why – but I think if we can find out, we might be able to help him.’

There was an almighty crash, and both Jack and Alana turned to look at Will. His arms were flailing, and he’d knocked a glass of water off the coffee table onto the wooden floor. Will’s eyes were open now, disturbed by the sound of the glass shattering, and his gaze was fixed on the empty space before him.

‘Hannibal, _please_.’

Alana stood once more. ‘Will?’

‘No, no Hannibal, please no.’ Will started to push himself up, and Alana moved toward him, afraid he could step obliviously onto the glass around their feet.

‘HANNIBAL!’ Will screamed, lurching from the sofa too fast for Alana to stop him. Tears sprang to his eyes as he began to murmur unintelligibly.

Alana crouched beside him. ‘Will, wake up. Will?’

Will blinked hard, trying to dispel his tears. He looked down at his hands and saw blood. _The cliff, the Dragon, his and Hannibal’s blood mixed together…_

‘Will, I need you to follow my breathing. Deep breaths.’

Will desperately clung to Alana’s voice, slowly calming his racing heart and panting breaths. Tears were still leaking down his cheeks; he turned to look for Hannibal, but the figure was gone.

After a few minutes, Alana cautiously put a hand on Will’s arm. ‘Do you know where you are?’

Will’s voice, when he replied, was soft and dejected. ‘In your house. Your living room.’

‘Can you see anything which isn’t real?’

Will looked up, checking the space where Hannibal had been. ‘He’s gone.’ His face twisted, as though in agony; the movement pulled at the scar in his cheek. He looked back down at his bloodied hands.

‘You smashed a glass when you fell. It’s alright, Will. Can you get back onto the sofa?’

With Alana’s help, Will was able to climb back onto the sofa without pressing bloody hand marks into the pale cover. He lay down, head back on the cushion, and made sure to keep his hands face-up. Will’s eyes caught on Jack and he froze. ‘Is he…?’

‘Real? Yes, Jack’s here.’ Alana turned to Jack briefly before looking back to Will. ‘I’ll just get something to clean your hands.’

With his comforter gone, Will lay on his side, staring blankly ahead of him at the fire, which was slowly burning itself out. ‘Why are you here?’ He asked, without looking up.

‘Alana asked me to come. And I was worried about you – what have you been doing these last few weeks?’

‘Not very much at all,’ Will answered obliquely. He opened and closed his hands, watching absently as the motions brought fresh beads of blood to the surface. ‘I don’t think there’s any glass in here.’

‘You’re making it worse.’

‘I usually do.’

Jack wanted to scream at Will that he’d finally made it better, finally cut out the part of himself which had always wanted to be with Hannibal. But at the same time, it was painfully obvious that throwing Hannibal away was the source of Will’s current distress. Now was not the time.

Alana returned with a bowl of water, cloth, and bandages. She placed them down on the table in front of Will. ‘Do you mind?’ She asked him gently.

‘Guess not.’

With Will’s shaky permission granted, Alana dampened the cloth and began to clean Will’s hands, taking his fingers carefully in her own and prising them apart to gain better access. Will kept his hands limp and remained perfectly still, gaze focused on Alana’s shoulder. Jack took the initiative and got up to find a dustpan and brush to clear up the shards of glass scattered across the floor.

‘Why did you call Jack?’ Will asked once he was gone.

Alana paused in her ministrations. ‘He called me first, worried about you. When you turned up here I called him as soon as I could.’

‘Did you call anyone else?’

‘No. Is there anyone you want me to call?’

Will shook his head, face unreadable, as though he’d pulled down a curtain and was lurking, carefully obscured, on the other side. It was a non-expression Alana had seen Hannibal wear many times. She returned her attention to Will’s hands.

‘There’s no glass in here, thankfully.’ She said after a minute, confirming Will’s perception. She took the bandages and bound Will’s hands, securing them firmly in place. Will flexed his fingers experimentally. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘It’s fine.’ A pause, then, quieter, ‘thank you.’

Alana squeezed the tips of Will’s fingers were they poked out from beneath the bandages. ‘Are you hungry? It’s almost dinner time and you slept through lunch.’ Alana didn’t add that Will had only eaten half a pancake for breakfast, and that had only been to appease Morgan.

Jack returned with the dustpan and brush, sweeping up the glass quickly and efficiently. Alana thanked him without taking her eyes off Will – she didn’t want to let him avoid the question. When he made no response, she decided not to give him a choice.

‘Let’s go and get something to eat from the kitchen.’ Alana stood and walked away, praying Will would stand and follow them. Just as she reached the doorway with Jack, she heard the rustle of the blanket, and the pad of Will’s socked feet on the floorboards behind them.

It was only a small step, a tiny turn of the key in the lock, but Alana hoped it was a move in the right direction.


	4. Chapter 4

Late 8th and Early 9th December 2015

Will and Hannibal were lying on their backs, floating in the middle of a desolate Chesapeake Bay. They floated without any effort at all, and Will thought of the Dead Sea – _appropriately named_ , he thought – where the salt from the water kept people effortlessly afloat. Will didn’t know why the salt made people float; it was just one of those life facts which he’d accepted without question. He thought Hannibal would probably know, but to be honest he didn’t really care. More to the point, they were in the Atlantic, not on the Dead Sea, anyway.

It was the middle of the night, and around them the sea was inky black, swaying and rolling as the winds and currents pressed upon the water. Will tried to work out where the cliffs were, turning his head from side to side until he felt the dark water slosh into his ears; but the cliffs were so dark that he couldn’t see where the water ended and the rocks began. In fact, it was so dark he could barely make out Hannibal; but he knew he was there all the same, just as he knew he always would be.

‘In the beginning, there was nothing.’ Will spoke into the silence.

‘And then God said ‘Let there be light’.’ Hannibal replied a moment later.

Of course Hannibal had brought God into it. Although, Will was forced to admit, he had given Hannibal a very good opening this time.

Will cast his gaze up to the sky, pitch black apart from the stars which dotted its surface. He spotted Orion, using Orion’s Belt to locate the figure as his father had taught him, and searched for the dogs which gathered around the constellation. Orion and his dogs, happy and untainted by the darkness swirling all around them. Will sighed. When he turned to Hannibal, he could see the light of the stars reflected in his darks eyes; he wondered if Hannibal saw the same light in his own eyes.

‘There was a theory,’ Hannibal began, ‘that the universe is in fact light. The Earth simply has a covering over it, and where there are holes in that cover, we on Earth are able to see what we describe as the stars.’

Will imagined it for a moment: a world of light, hidden from him, with only a glimpse every now and again suggesting there was anything beyond the darkness surrounding him. It wasn’t all that hard to conceive – he knew that feeling well enough.

‘All the stars are connected,’ he responded after a long pause. ‘They are just one ray of light, diluted and separated by the darkness around them.’

‘They would not be separated to those outside the Earth, although down here we would believe it to be so.’

‘An invisible connection, hidden from view.’ Will turned to Hannibal to see him smiling, teeth more obvious against the darkness of the sea around them. ‘Is that what we have?’

‘Our connection is stronger than light. It is palpable, and it is fierce. You said before that the light from friendship wouldn’t reach us for a thousand years. Where is that light now?’

‘It stands in front of me, and dazzles me.’

‘Saul was dazzled by God on the road to Damascus, and experienced a conversion.’

Here they were again, back to God. Conversations always went in circles with Hannibal. But rather than be irritated by this, Will found himself smiling in delight. He reached out a hand and took Hannibal’s in his own, bridging the small physical gap between them. Will’s message could not be clearer: here was his conversion. Here was his abandonment of a lifetime of work, in order to take up another of a very different form.  

‘Saul’s name was changed to Paul, to signify his conversion.’ Hannibal continued. ‘What changes will you make?’

‘You’ve already changed me.’

‘And you changed me. Irreparably.’

Will gripped Hannibal’s hand tighter. The sea around them was growing rougher, less of an idyllic lull now than a churning lilt, pushing and pulling at Will and Hannibal. They still remained afloat, drifting on the waves, but Will was starting to wonder how long it would be before a wave came over them and pushed them down, below the surface. Or worse still, pushed them away from one another.

‘On the cliff…I wasn’t ready.’

‘I know, Will.’

‘I’d got myself so wrapped up in Dolarhyde - in _you_ \- that I didn’t have time to think about what it would mean for me. And how I would feel.’

‘You lost yourself. What did you see when you found yourself again?’

‘I saw a monster. I saw you. I saw you inside myself, and I was afraid.’

‘Why were you afraid?’ The waves pulled at them, and Will gripped Hannibal harder.

‘I was afraid because…because even though I saw you, I was still myself. I hadn’t lost a part of me; I had found another one. I wasn’t broken by the darkness – I was made whole by it.’

Hannibal smiled, quick and sharp. ‘It took me so long to show you what you could become. In that moment you saw it.’

Will looked up at the stars. They appeared dimmer now, as though their light had faded; as though a thick fog had risen from the black sea and was shrouding them, choking off their soul. Orion was obscured, and his dogs had gone.

‘ _I saw it_ ,’ Will whispered, throat constricting. ‘You were right about me, just as you always had been.’

‘So in response you did what you have always done.’

Will waited in silence. He didn’t want to say it, because he knew what would happen when the words were spoken. Hannibal knew it too.

‘You pushed me. You pushed me away.’

Will felt Hannibal’s hand slide from his own, and tried in vain to grasp it; the seawater made their skin slippery, and he couldn’t hold on.  ‘Hannibal.’

‘I forgive you, Will. I understand what you felt. _Tai grazu._ It will always be beautiful to me.’

‘ _Hannibal_.’ Hannibal was drifting further and further from Will, and his voice was becoming fainter.

‘I forgive you, Will. In that moment, my work was completed.’

‘Please, Hannibal.’

‘Your work, Will, has just begun.’

‘Hannibal-‘

And then a great black wave collapsed over Hannibal, and when Will’s eyes sought the water’s surface a moment later, Hannibal had gone. He’d been swallowed beneath the serface, just as Will had dreaded, just as he had thought he’d wanted.

***

Will awoke with tears in his eyes, salty sweat on his skin, and Hannibal’s name on his lips. He sat up slowly, pushing off the blanket and blinking in the darkness of the room. He scrambled for his phone, ignoring the texts and missed calls from Dr Nolan, and checked the time. 5.26. Running a hand through his hair, Will stood on shaky legs and headed to the kitchen to find a glass of water.

Several minutes later, Will was standing beside the window, looking out at the darkened lawn beyond the glass, with the water clutched in his freshly bandaged hands, undrunk. He stood, blinking back his tears, and wished for the morning light to break through his darkness. But more than anything, he wished Hannibal was standing there beside him.

‘I’m sorry, Hannibal.’ Will murmured, lips hardly moving. ‘How do I put this right?’

Will waited, but no answer came.

***

Dinner the previous evening had been relaxed. Amid Morgan’s happy chatter and the usual family discussions between Alana and Margot, Will had been able to eat in unnoticed quiet, without the pressure to contribute, and yet still feel he was not alone. Every now and again, Jack and Alana had cast glances at him, which he pretended not to see. After the meal he had returned to the living room and promptly fallen asleep, much to Morgan’s dismay.

The next morning, Margot descended the stairs early to find Will in the kitchen, standing at the window and staring out at the wide gardens, with a glass of water clutched in his bandaged hands. He didn’t acknowledge Margot when she entered the kitchen to make herself and Alana – who was still in bed – a cup of tea.

‘Have you been awake long?’

Will startled, turning his head but not fully looking at Margot. ‘Hmm?’

‘Sorry, I thought you heard me come in. How long have you been standing there?’ Margot asked as she poured milk into the mugs.

Will rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. ‘Uhhh.’

‘You don’t know?’

Will’s mouth turned up in an imitation of a smile. ‘I guess I lost track of time.’

‘Want a cup of tea?’

‘Coffee, if you have it.’

‘Sure.’

‘…Margot?’

Margot looked up, then set the mugs down, sensing a change in tone. Will had turned back to the window, eyes flitting over the hedges and lawns. ‘Yeah?’

‘When you killed Mason, how did you feel?’

Margot was taken aback by the question. Of course she thought of Mason – couldn’t get him out of her head – but to think of that moment again was…uncomfortable. As much as she relished her brother’s absence, his death had not been an easy concept to accept. ‘At first, I didn’t feel much at all – I was too shocked; Alana and I both were. And then I was relieved.’

‘Do you still think about him? Do you ever…hear his voice? _See_ him?’

‘Of course I think of him. I have nightmares about him. He abused me for years, and I’ll never be able to fully cut him off…’ Margot reigned herself in; she needed to be careful. ‘Sometimes I think I can hear his voice, his _laugh_ , but I know it’s not real.’

Will had gone rigid, knuckles white around the glass he was still holding.

‘Will,’ Margot’s voice was soft now. ‘I know what you did, on the cliff. You know what I’m talking about?’

Will nodded once, stiffly, in silent affirmation.

Margot walked toward him, footsteps oddly loud on the cold tiles of the floor. Closer now, she could see tears rolling down Will’s face in the reflection of the glass. ‘Tell me about it.’

Will shook his head. Margot waited.

‘Will.’

Will shook his head again. ‘I can’t…I can’t.’

‘What happened to Dolarhyde?’

Will took a steadying breath, then another. ‘According to the verdict of my trial, he attacked us; I defended myself, and…and then he was killed.’

‘And then what happened?’

‘We were by the cliff…Ha…he,’ Will waved his hand in the air; Margot hummed, showing she understood. ‘He pulled me to my feet. We talked. And then I…I pushed him.’

‘Why, Will?’

Will whirled around, slamming the glass onto the counter.  ‘I don’t know.’

Margot held her ground. ‘I think you do.’

In his mind, Will saw them both on the cliff; him and Hannibal. He could feel Hannibal’s chest beneath his palms, see the proud glint in his eyes, feel the mix of their breaths, of their blood.

‘He knew. He was right and he knew it.’

‘Knew what?’

‘What I was, who I was. Who I am.’ Will sobbed, fists clenching at his sides as another wave of tears washed down his already damp face. The tears were warm, and to Will they felt the same as his blood had when it had poured from his cheek. For a moment the person standing before him was not Margot, but Hannibal.

‘Who are you?’ Hannibal asked.

‘I’m a murderer. You knew, you always knew. It was what you wanted me to see, all along. It was why you _loved me_. I killed people and it made me feel good, and you saw it in me.’

Will blinked through his tears, and Margot re-emerged in front of him. He was bereft, feeling Hannibal’s loss, his absence, afresh. Will’s legs crumpled and Will slid to the floor. Margot crouched beside him, reaching for him, but it was Hannibal’s voice Will heard when she spoke.

‘It’s alright, Will. It’s alright.’

And then Margot wrapped her arms around Will as he curled in on himself, head falling onto Margot’s shoulder. Margot’s hand rubbed across his back as Will finally fell apart, shattered into a thousand pieces like the glass had been on the living room floor. He wondered how long it would be before all his cracked shards were swept up and tossed away, before he was able to hurt anyone else.

‘I want him back.’

‘I know.’

‘I want him gone.’

‘I know.’

‘You don’t understand, nobody does.’

‘I do, I do. That’s why you’re here.’

Will dissolved into sobs, clutching at Margot’s back, unable to retain control of himself. He was almost wailing now, a man totally adrift in a sea of grief, pushed further and further beneath the surface by the roll of the waves, with the sting of salt lancing into his eyes and lungs. Hannibal was dead, Hannibal was dead. _Hannibal is dead. And I want to go with him._

Will didn’t know when Alana and Jack arrived, but only that they did. Margot had kept her hold on Will as Alana had crouched beside them, rubbing his hair and his back, rocking them slowly and shushing him gently. For some time they had stayed in silence, and then Alana had tried to talk to Will. When Will had been unable to respond, Alana had spoken in low, calming tones to Margot, who had murmured in response.  And then Will had felt Alana take hold of his hand, and he had felt the sting of a needle, and he had felt cool liquid running up his arm. For a moment he thought Alana might be killing him, and he was relieved.

‘You’re going to fall asleep, Will.’ Alana had said. But it wasn’t the sort of sleep Will longed for; the sort he had already condemned Hannibal to.

‘I’m sorry.’ He said, over and over until his words slurred into nothing.

‘It’s ok, Will. It’s all ok.’ But it wasn’t. And anyway, Will hadn’t been talking to them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_ Report from Doctor Nolan, R. on patient 371 (Mr Graham, W.)  Session 4, 8th December 2015 _

_Will failed to attend his appointment or to give notice of his absence, breaching the terms of his bail. Relevant authorities have been contacted, along with the designated FBI contact, Agent William Wilson._

_ Text from Doctor Nolan, R. to Will Graham, 8th December 2015 9:47pm _

_Hello Will. How are you doing? You missed your appointment this evening, so I regret to inform you that I have had to contact the FBI, as per the terms of our sessions. Please contact me; I’m here to help you._

_P.S. Have you been taking your medication?_

_ Voicemail from Dr Nolan to Jack Crawford, 9th December 2015 _

_Jack, we’ve spoken before regarding your ex-colleague Will Graham. He failed to attend his appointment last night, which as you know is a breach of the terms of his bail. I know you were looking for him; if you find him, ask him to contact me directly._

_ Memo from Agent Wilson, W. FBI Quantico to Agent Crawford, J. 9th December 2015 _

_You were right, Mr Crawford. Will Graham is unwilling to comply with the terms set out at his trial. I believe it would be appropriate to detain him, and so have issued a warrant for his arrest. Report to Quantico when I contact you again – you know Will won’t speak to me._

9th December 2015

After Will had been sedated, Jack had carried him from the kitchen to the living room, where he’d laid Will down on the sofa. Will’s breathing was heavy and even, and once Alana was satisfied that he would be warm and comfortable, they had left him to rest undisturbed. Looking at Will’s motionless form before they had retired to the kitchen, Jack was reminded of Will’s stay in the hospital after the events on the clifftop.

_Jack walked into the hospital room to find Will lying just as he had been; on his back, body still and lifeless. But this time, when Jack got closer to the bed, he realised Will’s eyes were open; he was staring blankly at the ceiling._

_‘Will.’_

_Will made no acknowledgement that he had heard Jack, who took a seat beside the bed. After several moments of silence, Will licked his lips._

_‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’_

_Jack cleared his throat. ‘Hannibal is dead, yes.’_

_‘Are you sure?’ Will’s voice cracked on the words; he was still staring at the ceiling._

_‘I’m sure, Will.’  Jack waited several beats. ‘We found his body.’ Jack remembered finding Hannibal, in the early hours of the morning. His body had been spotted floating on the water quarter of a mile out to sea. Half an hour later, Hannibal’s body had been laid out on the beach. Jack had stood above him, unable to fully believe that the Chesapeake Ripper had finally been killed – it was almost, almost_ , _anticlimactic that Hannibal had been killed by cliffs and saltwater, rather than a gun or knife._ _At the time, Jack had told himself that he was glad it had been Will who had finally killed Hannibal, and not himself – but even there, standing over Hannibal’s body on the beach as waves crashed on the rocks below, Jack didn’t quite believe it._

_When Jack had refocused on Will, lying in front of him, he’d seen tears falling from Will’s eyes and soaking the pillows beneath his head._

_‘Hey, Will, you’re free of him now. He’s gone forever.’_

_‘I know.’  Will sounded the opposite of relieved._

***

Jack, Alana and Margot sat in the kitchen, nursing much-needed cups of coffee. Alana and Margot were holding hands, a mutual source of comfort after the events of the early morning; Margot in particular looked worried and shaken – she had, after all, borne the brunt of Will’s breakdown.

‘What are we going to do?’ Jack asked, before taking a sip of his coffee.

Alana sighed. ‘I knew he was struggling. Of course, we all did. But I didn’t realise quite how badly he’d taken all of this…I feel like I’ve failed him, again.’

Margot squeezed her hand. ‘You haven’t failed him, Alana. You let him in here, even after all the pain he and Hannibal caused you.’

Alana gave Margot a small smile. ‘But how much of that was Hannibal, and how much of that was Will?’

‘Hannibal had a very strong influence.’ Jack interjected. ‘I think Hannibal is still influencing Will now.’

Margot nodded. ‘When he was talking to me today…he started to talk to me as though I was Hannibal, as though Hannibal was standing in front of him, rather than me.’

‘Will knows Hannibal is dead. He knows it.’ Jack said, thinking of their first conversation in the hospital once more.

‘He does, but that doesn’t mean he’s fully accepted the fact. Hannibal was a huge part of Will’s life for many years; he can’t just cut that off in an instant.’ Margot said quietly.  Mason loomed close in her mind. Alana squeezed her hand tighter, aware of the associations.

‘Those pills he was given, by Doctor Nolan,’ Jack said after several seconds of silent contemplation, ‘they’d help, wouldn’t they?’

Alana nodded. ‘They would, if Will would take them.’ She paused. ‘The thing is, if Will clings to his grief, his loneliness, then he doesn’t have to do anything about it; he doesn’t have to move on, doesn’t have to work out his feelings for Hannibal, doesn’t have to work out what he’s going to do next.’

‘What if I could get his old job back?’

Alana and Margot both stared at Jack in open disbelief.

Jack sighed. ‘Ignore that – I spoke before I thought. It wouldn’t be right.’

‘No, it wouldn’t.’

Jack’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it. It buzzed again, so he pulled it from his pocket in irritation. When Jack opened the message, he froze, sucking in a breath.

‘What is it?’ Alana asked.

Jack read the message from Dr Nolan, and then the one from Agent Wilson. He looked up at Alana and Margot. ‘Will’s missed his appointment with his psychiatrist.’

Alana frowned. ‘But…?’

‘That means he’s breached the terms of his bail. I’ve got a message from Agent Wilson – he’s issued a warrant for Will’s arrest.’

Margot dropped her head into her hands.

 Alana sighed, ‘Oh, god.’ There was silence for a moment. ‘Can’t we explain what’s happened?’

Jack shook his head. ‘No exceptions.’

‘I never told them Will was here, Jack. Did you?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

Margot raised her head. ‘Alana…’

Alana turned to Margot. ‘No, I’m not suggesting we harbour him here. I won’t risk us, or Morgan, for that. But surely we could come up with a reason not to have Will detained?’

‘If we argue for mental instability, they’ll detain him anyway. Agent Wilson wants Will brushed out of sight – he was an embarrassment for the FBI, and there’s a general consensus at Quantico that the past is better forgotten.’

‘Will’s an unfortunate reminder.’

Jack sighed, placing his empty coffee mug on the counter. ‘I don’t know what we can do, but we have to do something. I feel indebted to him.’

‘How so?’

Jack met Alana’s questioning gaze. ‘In Florence, Will told me part of him would always want to run away with Hannibal. I told him he had to cut that part out. And then, three years later, he pushed Hannibal off a cliff.’

Alana took Margot’s hand. ‘We’re indebted to Will, too.’ She said. But in the back of her mind, Alana had a niggling feeling that Will would never have sacrificed something so precious to him as Hannibal for the sake of themselves, or for the sake of Jack. Sometimes, she felt like Will and Hannibal had always been playing a game of chess just between the two of them, and anyone else who was involved had just happened to be standing on the sidelines each time another piece was moved or taken. In that moment, it dawned on Alana, although she did not say so, that maybe it wasn’t that Will didn’t want their help, but that – from the moment Will and Hannibal had met – the opportunity for anyone to help Will but Hannibal had already evaporated.

***

While Jack, Alana and Margot talked in the kitchen, Will stirred and rose slowly into consciousness. The sedative Alana had given him was mild, and Will was soon fully awake and alert, although he lay as he’d been placed, staring at the fire which was burning softly across the room. After some time, Will noticed that his phone, tossed on the coffee table, was flashing with a new message. He reached for it, and then squinted into the bright light of the screen. When his eyes had adjusted, he saw the text Dr Nolan had sent him the previous evening.

Will read the text once, then twice more. Each time, his eyes got stuck on one line: _I’m here to help you_. He stared at the message in derision, as a tiny voice whispered in his mind that, when he’d missed an appointment with Hannibal, Hannibal had driven across the state to see him. Hannibal didn’t need to say sentences like ‘ _I’m here to help you’_ ; he’d just looked at Will that night, so many years ago, and Will had known deep in his heart that it was true. But time and again, Will had thrown that help away.

Will wanted to apologise, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words aloud, knowing Hannibal wasn’t there to hear them.

To distract himself, Will scrolled through the other unopened messages in his phone. He stopped on one from several weeks ago, which had come from Molly. After a moment’s hesitation, Will opened the message.

_Will,_

_I hope you’ve recovered now; according to the news you sustained some serious injuries. Walter’s been asking about you. He said you killed the Dragon to protect us; he’s right. You’ve protected us now, we’re safe._

_I wish you’d come home._

_Love, always,_

_Molly xx_

Will forced his tears away. Molly was too good for him; she always had been. She was too forgiving, too brave, too loving. Will didn’t deserve to be loved by someone so good – the only person who should love a monster was another monster. Molly was perfect: soft hugs and warm smiles and smooth skin; Will had always been rough around the edges. He had thought for a while that their differences would help them fit together, but he knew now he’d been lying to himself. If Will stayed with Molly, he knew his rough edges would start to chip away at her smooth lines. Fingers hovering over the keyboard, Will forced himself not to put the phone down, but to respond, one last time.

But he didn’t want to type this – he couldn’t bear to see it written down. So instead he dialled.

Molly picked up on the second ring.

_‘Will?’_

‘Hi, Molly. How are you?’

_‘Missing you like crazy. Other than that, I’m fine.’_

‘And Walter?’

_‘He’s fine too. And the dogs. He talks about you all the time, Will.’_

‘Don’t tell him I called, will you?’

_‘Why, Will? What’s wrong?’_

‘Nothing.’ Everything.

‘ _I miss you, Will. I love you.’_

‘I love you too. But you’re too good, Molly.’

‘ _No, Will-‘_

‘Find someone who can love you properly, look after you properly. Find someone who deserves you.’

‘ _You deserve me, Will.’_

Will couldn’t hold back his tears now. ‘Take care of the dogs. And Walter. And yourself.’

_‘What about you?’_ Will could hear that Molly was crying too, now.

‘I’ll take care of myself.’

_‘Like hell you will.’_ Molly had the tone of someone who knew when they were defeated.

‘I’m sorry, Molly.’ Will wanted to say that he wished he’d never gone with Jack. He wanted to say that he wished he’d never gone to see Hannibal. He wanted to say that he wished things had ended differently. Maybe he did truly wish those things, but he couldn’t say it. Molly didn’t say it either.

_‘Will, you can always come back, okay? Don’t cut me out – talk to me, write to me, anything. I love you.’_

‘Don’t love me, Molly. You’re better than that.’ A pause. ‘I love you.’

Then Will hung up the phone. Molly didn’t try to call him back; she’d always known how to give Will space.

Wiping the tears from his face, Will stared at the text from Molly once more, reading it until he’d committed it to memory. And then he deleted it. He looked at the text from Doctor Nolan, and knew his phone would be tracked soon. He turned it off, for Margot and Alana’s sake.

Will sat on the sofa and stared at his hands. He looked up and saw Hannibal standing before him. ‘You’ve said goodbye, Will. It’s time to leave.’

‘Where will I go?’

‘Where you’ve always gone, of course.’

Will envied Hannibal’s simplicity. He made it sound easy.


	6. Chapter 6

9th December 2015

Hannibal and Will sat together on the doorstep of Alana and Margot’s mansion. Behind them it loomed like a great storm cloud, overshadowing all that was around them. They had their backs to the house, and stared out together at the driveway beyond – a driveway which led back to civilisation, back to the real world. The doorstep was narrow, so Will and Hannibal were hunched together; Will’s left side was pressed against Hannibal’s right. A strong wind blew across the driveway, and Will shivered.

‘Are you cold?’ Hannibal asked. He wrapped an arm around Will’s back, encasing him and pulling him closer.

Will smiled up at him. Hannibal was soaking wet, clothes drenched through and hair dripping with salty water. The wet seeped through onto Will’s back and side where he was pressed against Hannibal. He shivered harder. ‘I’m not sure that’s helping.’

Hannibal huffed lightly, a rush of air to show his mock irritation. ‘You are too hard to please, dear Will.’

Will poked Hannibal’s side with his finger. ‘You’re too wet to be a good blanket.’

‘I can leave, if you wish.’

Will snuggled closer, feeling more water seep through his clothes. ‘Never.’

‘As you wish.’

They sat in silence for a long time, listening to each other’s breaths. Will thought about all the other things he wished for, which Hannibal could no longer grant him. Will thought about the multiverse theory, where there are an infinite number of possible universes with infinite numbers of events. He thought about himself and Hannibal in different universes. In some, he realised, he and Hannibal would never even have met, but he pushed those from his mind quickly. In others, he and Hannibal had never reached the cliff that night with Dolarhyde – maybe Will was still in prison, having never shown the world who Hannibal was; maybe Will and Hannibal had left with Abigail on that fateful night, without the massacre in Hannibal’s kitchen; maybe Hannibal was still in prison, and Will was with his dogs and Molly. And, most tantalising, of all, there was the universe where both Hannibal and Will still lived, hidden in Europe to wreak destruction on the world. So many different possibilities, so how had Will ended up in this, the worst of them all?

‘What’s troubling you, Will?’ Hannibal asked; Will could feel his warm breath on his neck, making the hair there stand on end.

‘Quantum physics.’

Hannibal huffed out a laugh. ‘I often struggle with that myself.’

Will pulled away from Hannibal sharply, so he could look at his face. ‘Of all the possible universes, why do we have to be stuck here?’

Hannibal’s eyes fell on Will, and then he looked down at his hands, head drooping. ‘I am no longer trapped in this universe, Will. You freed me from it. It is only you who remain trapped.’

‘Why did I ever think I could survive without you?’

‘Will.’ Hannibal gripped Will’s shoulders until he met Hannibal’s eyes. ‘You gave me a chance to leave, but I’m still here, with you.’

Will thought of himself and Hannibal floating on the water, in their previous encounter.

_‘I forgive you, Will. In that moment, my work was completed.’_

_‘Please, Hannibal.’_

_‘Your work, Will, has just begun.’_

‘What did you mean, when you said my work had just begun?’ Will asked the question, but he already knew the answer. Hannibal waited patiently for Will, knowing exactly what Will was thinking. ‘You dedicated yourself to transforming me, to my becoming. When we killed Dolarhyde, I finally saw in myself what you had always seen in me.’

‘And how beautiful you looked, dear Will. You were breath-taking.’

‘I was beautiful to you in that moment because I was a murderer.’

Hannibal shook his head. ‘You were beautiful because you were no longer caged, no longer confined by the limits of this world, but elevated to new levels of perfection.’

Will punched Hannibal lightly in the stomach. ‘Stop being so melodramatic.’ He linked his fingers with Hannibal’s. ‘You said my work had just begun…You want me to keep going, without you?’

‘Not without me, no. Will, I am always with you. Look,’ Hannibal squeezed Will’s fingers, ‘here I am.’

Will squeezed back. ‘But it’s not the same.’

‘No. But you will find me again, Will.’

‘Where? How?’

‘Where have you always seen me most clearly?’

Will’s breath stuttered to a stop. ‘You want me to kill, the way you did.’

‘Not the way I did. I want you to kill according to you own design, not mine. But in your design, your true design, you will always find me.’

Will reached clumsily for Hannibal, and they embraced. He held on as though he would never let go. Maybe he never would. It was Hannibal who pulled back first. He stood on the doorstep, and turned to Will.

‘Follow me, Will. And you will always find me. Learn your design, perfect it, and in that perfection, there you will find me.’

And then, without another word, Hannibal turned and walked down the path, away from the house, and away from Will. Will didn’t call after him, but simply watched as Hannibal walked away. Hannibal didn’t look back as he started down the driveway; he knew Will would follow, in his own time. Will knew it too. When Hannibal was gone from sight, Will stared at the empty doorstep where they had sat minutes ago.

‘I’ll find you again, Hannibal. I promise I’ll find you.’

***

Will stood on the doorstep for a long time, hands in his pockets to protect his fingers from the biting cold. He willed his eyes to see Hannibal again, but he knew he was gone. Eventually, Will turned and walked back into the house. He needed to get his things, and leave a note – Alana, Margot and Jack deserved at least an explanation.

When Will walked back into the living room to locate paper and a pen, he found Morgan playing with a toy car on the floor. Morgan brightened when he saw Will, and then he saw the tear marks on Will’s face. He stood up as Will sat down on the sofa.

‘You’re still sad.’

Will rubbed at the tear track marks on his cheeks and gave the most sincere smile he could muster. ‘I’m okay.’ And he was, more so than he had been since the night on the cliff.

Morgan stared at Will for a moment in contemplation, chewing on his thumbnail as he did so. Then he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Will’s middle. Will went rigid in shock, and then forced himself to relax and wrap his arms around Morgan’s back. After a few seconds, Morgan squeezed Will tight, and then pulled back to look at his face once more. Fresh tears were running down Will’s face, but he made himself look at Morgan’s eyes.

‘Now you look more sad.’ Morgan announced, sounding dejected.

Will shook his head. ‘No, I’m…it’s…’

‘Do you have kids?’

Will nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak. He wanted Walter badly, wanted to be hugged by him, trusted by him in the same innocent way Morgan trusted him. But Walter knew about Will’s past, and ever since the Dragon had attacked, Walter hadn’t looked at Will in quite the same way – new knowledge had blossomed in his eyes. But more than Water, Will wanted Molly; he wanted her warmth and simplicity, but he couldn’t have it. He had chosen Hannibal, which meant he had to let go of everyone else.  

‘I wish I had a brother or sister,’ Morgan continued. ‘I love Mama and Mummy, but sometimes they’re busy, and I have nobody to play with. I wish I had someone else to play with.’

Will knew that feeling well; it was why he had started collecting strays, befriending them from age nine – much to his father’s derision. He wiped at his face. ‘I didn’t have any brothers either.’

‘So who did you play with?’

No-one. But Will couldn’t say that. ‘You have to make some friends.’

‘Mummy said you’re her friend, but you don’t seem like friends.’

Will frowned.

‘You don’t play together. You don’t even talk.’

Will smiled sadly. ‘I’m not a very good friend.  But Ala- your mummy is a very good friend.’

‘So she didn’t make you sad?’

Will shook his head; so this was what Morgan had been worried about the whole time. ‘No. Alana tried to make me happy. She’s still trying.’

‘What if it doesn’t work?’

‘Then your mummy will still be a great friend. Some people can’t be made happy again.’

‘You can; you just have to find the right thing.’

Will smiled weakly. He knew exactly where Hannibal was, but that didn’t make him happy at all. And then he remembered where he could find Hannibal again, and his smile widened. Morgan smiled at him, sensing his improvement.

‘Morgan, do you have any paper and pens I can use?’

Morgan nodded happily and raced from the room in search of what Will needed. He returned moments later holding a large box of felt tips and a pad of plain paper. Will took them gratefully, wondering how he was going to do this without Morgan having to read the note.

‘Have you ever played spies?’ Will asked.

Morgan shook his head, standing eagerly in front of Will.

‘Do you want to play?’ He nodded vigorously. At least Will could be a friend to Morgan, if only for half an hour or so. He could do that much. This was for Walter, too, to show him that Will could be a good father. Although Walter would never see this, and never know.

‘Okay, let’s pretend we’re spies. I’m a secret agent, and I need to you send a super-secret message to Agent Alana.’

‘A matter of national security?’ Morgan asked, practically bouncing on his heels.

‘ _Global_ security.’

Will took a pen and sheet of paper, and handed it to Morgan. ‘And you have a top-secret message for Agent Margot.’

Morgan took the paper and threw himself on the floor to begin his message. Taking advantage of Morgan’s distraction, Will penned his own message to Alana, and another to Jack. He would have preferred to spend more time over it, but he supposed the speed helped in some ways: it prevented him from dwelling on the emotions, on the ties he was about to sever for eternity. He hoped they would be too good to forgive him for it.

Once Will had written his letter, he folded it up carefully and sealed it with some selotape he’d found in the box of felt-tip pens. He glanced up to see Morgan still scribbling away, and handed him some tape too when he was finished, to seal his top-secret message.

‘What now?’ Morgan asked when he was done.

Will handed his sealed letter to Morgan. ‘Don’t open it.’

‘Will you have to kill me if I do?’

Will nodded solemnly. ‘I will.’

‘Shall I deliver our messages now?’

Will shook his head. ‘I need you to spy on them first, to see what they’re doing. Report back to me, Agent Morgan.’

Morgan nodded, and crept away. Once he was gone, Will gathered up his phone, wallet and glasses, and folded the blanket over the back of the sofa. He took one last look around the room, before heading to the doorway. Morgan met him there.

‘Agent Alana, Agent Margot and Agent Jack are in an ultra-secret meeting.’

‘Where are they?’

‘The kitchen.’

_Kitchen_. So, Will could get out the front door without being seen. Will looked at Morgan, who was buzzing with excitement. He was sorry they’d have to cut the game short, and that he’d never see Morgan again.

‘Okay, Agent Morgan. This is very important. I need you to wait exactly one hour before you give our letters to Agent Alana and Agent Margot. Can you do that?’

Morgan nodded eagerly. ‘What will you do?’

‘I have another mission to do.’

‘Will it be hard? Will it be dangerous?’

‘It will be very dangerous, but I’ll be very careful not to get caught.’

‘Is what your letter is about?’

Will nodded. ‘Yes.’ Morgan was more right than he knew.

‘Okay, so, one hour?’

Morgan nodded, smiling. ‘One hour.’  And then he leapt forward and hugged Will, crushing the letters between them. ‘Goodbye, and good luck.’

Will fought not to cry as he hugged Morgan back. ‘Do something good in this world, Morgan, won’t you?’ He pulled back. ‘Now, go!’

Morgan raced up the stairs as silently as he could, spying on the kitchen through the bannisters. As per Will’s instructions, he would wait exactly one hour before delivering the message that would tear his parents’ world apart.

Will watched him go for a second, before walking quietly to the front door. He wished he could hug Alana and Margot goodbye, and explain himself to Jack before he went. He hoped the meagre words of his letter would do them justice, but he knew it would never be enough. Nothing he could say would ever make them understand; only Hannibal understood, and that’s why he had to go.

As softly as he could, Will opened the front door and then closed it behind him. He had an hour to get away. For a moment, Will stood on the doorstep, looking out at the driveway beyond. And then he stepped down, walking briskly away from the house to follow Hannibal’s path.

Will had pushed Hannibal from him. And now, he was working to pull him back up. Time, he knew, would never reverse – he’d never feel the clutch of Hannibal’s hand in his own, never feel the huff of his warm breath or the press of his lips. But there were other ways to reach Hannibal.

As he walked, Will heard a familiar voice in his head whisper, ‘I forgive you, Will.’  

**Author's Note:**

> This work is complete and will be uploaded in weekly installments. All feedback greatly appreciated :)


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